Writing Interrupted

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Waiting for the Plague

Con + show = waiting for the plague to hit.

Con-plague. If you’ve been to a con, you probably have an understanding of what I mean. High energy, no sleep, unhealthy/not enough/strange food, and so many bodies crowded and crammed together. Cons are a petri dish of ick.

(But I love them too much to care!)

Then, remember how my last post talked about canceling our final show due to snow? Well, as I hoped, that got rescheduled. To Sunday.

You know, the day I came home from con.

The show happened. It even happened well, though I was dead – about as close to zombie as a still-living person can get – until the time our stage manager called places.

The recording even worked! Now the show is done with me, and I am done with the show. And sick tends to follow the completion of a stressful thing (even if it’s mostly the good kind of stress).